Keep Repeating
by girl in the glen
Summary: An old nemesis is close by and the agents better be on guard. Comments are always welcome.


It seemed that whenever someone had to strip down to his boxers or nothing at all, the name on the invitation was Illya Kuryakin. How many times had the job cost him a certain degree of dignity? And how was it that once again, it would be the Russian on display among a group of muscled, hard bodied young men as he attempted to get past the event and into the meat of his mission beyond?

Napoleon Solo was fully dressed, as usual, his Glen Plaid a contrast to his partner's scantily clad body. Illya was not a muscle bound individual, but some recent training with a boxing coach in preparation for their last mission had gotten the blond into very good shape. He stood now in the midst of several other similarly half naked men in what appeared to be a Mod inspired fishbowl, the purpose of which was some type of performance art that left the UNCLE agent wondering where this decade was heading.

Illya was looking for a way out of the faux fishbowl, 'swimming', as they had been instructed to do, for the benefit of the onlookers. The entire event was a THRUSH front for something else going on behind closed doors. It was those doors that Solo and Kuryakin hoped to breach, but so far only Illya had gotten close enough to gain entry.

At the moment, Napoleon was engaged in a conversation with one of the female models wandering among the crowd of potential customers. Women were surrounding the fishbowl, their eyes full of the candy provided for their entertainment and, to Kuryakin's great dismay, purchase. Only for the night, but the prospect of doing duty as a gigolo did not sit well with the man voted least likely to flirt by the women at UNCLE Headquarters.

This was an auction intended to raise money for a THRUSH endeavor in need of cash flow. The people here were ignorant of the real intent, their hedonistic impulses encouraged by the availability of whatever they desired. A few of the men were seen escorting 'models' into corridors lined with rooms for purposes that would remain discreetly private. Others were being offered afternoon 'tea' in the form of perfectly rolled marijuana; joints, to use the popular vernacular. Napoleon saw evidence of more, the beginnings of the hallucinations that marked LSD usage. He hoped for their sake that the stuff was good, UNCLE didn't need to have a clean up of multiple bad trips.

Illya was aware of these things, but most urgently he was trying to escape the attention of several of the women who continued to ogle and point at the men inside the fishbowl. He needed to get out and find the plans for which these people were paying. THRUSH had only one copy, according to the intelligence received by Waverly. Within these plans were the key players, the location and the eventual intent of whatever new lunacy the Hierarchy was engaged in.

Illya saw the opening he sought, a nearly invisible door that opened up into the rear of the room. All of the men had come in through that door, but finding it after the lights began to dim for the benefit of the strobe overhead had made it difficult to locate again. Illya headed for it now, hopeful that he would get there before…

Someone took him by the shoulder.

"You, you've been bought. Over there, she's the one. Be nice, or else." The fellow with the gun turned Illya around to face someone he thought looked familiar. The lighting made it difficult but as he squinted against the pulsing strobe effect he was shocked, distraught even, at who he saw.

Napoleon had been busy working the room, checking for THRUSH agents he recognized and some he didn't. Suspicions were rampant among all of those who were in the know, and only the ones buying were innocent, if they could indeed be called that. As he eased through a huddle of women he was keenly aware that they were watching him with a hungry expression, as though of one mind. _Something creepy here,_ he thought to himself. Where was Illya? He shouldn't lose sight of his partner.

Illya was staring into the uncomfortably familiar face of Gervaise Ravel; the woman who most certainly wanted him dead for having killed her lover, Harold Bufferton. It was unclear whether or not she recognized the blond agent, the lights were disorienting and she seemed to be under the influence of something. The man riding herd on this strange scene took Illya by the arm and exited through the very door he had sought out just moments earlier. Thoughts were ricocheting off of his skull like lightening bolts; should he make a run for it or risk being identified by Gervaise as an UNCLE agent? Was she under some drug spell or did she know exactly what she was doing?

Illya decided to not risk being examined up close, and with one swift move he disabled the bigger man, grabbed his gun and hit him on the head, knocking him out completely. He dragged the unconscious THRUSH into a space behind an unused bar near the corridor down which Illya was determined to travel in search of those plans. Napoleon caught a glimpse of the blond head just seconds before he spotted Gervaise. A shot of adrenaline spurred him into action as he made his way resolutely toward the spot where he had seen his partner disappear into darkness. Gervaise had also seen it and was close on Solo's heels as she reached into her evening bag and withdrew a weapon.

Illya knew where to go, and had lacked only opportunity prior to this moment. As he neared the door into a room he knew held the documents he was after, footsteps could be heard. Illya pushed himself into the wall, hoping the shadows would conceal him until he saw who was following him.

"Illya…', it was a whisper, and a familiar voice. "It's me, where are you?"

Napoleon couldn't see anything in this darkened hallway, especially after the black light and strobe experience in the other room. He hadn't heard Gervaise as she followed him, her own footsteps a mere whisper as she sought out the men who had ruined her hopes. Escaping from that prison had been child's play for the calculating seductress, and two dead guards were evidence of her intent.

Napoleon subdued a gasp when Illya grabbed him from the shadows. He needed for them to be invisible, his instincts sure that Gervaise had followed Solo into the hallway. They were close to completing their mission, but neither of them could have predicted a complication like Gervaise Ravel. Shirtless and high on the adrenaline shooting through his veins, Illya was a contrast to his suit clad partner. Together they would need to subdue Gervaise without raising an alarm to the THRUSH in the big room.

As she crept down the darkened hallway Gervaise was certain that the two agents were nearby. It was reckless of her to be here, doing this. THRUSH was no more her ally than was UNCLE, but her aim was to harm the latter, and how better than by killing its top two agents. She had been certain the task would fall to them, and her instincts had not failed her; they seldom did. Kuryakin would die for killing Harold, Solo would suffer the same fate for having ruined her bid at greatness.

Illya picked the lock of the door and pushed Napoleon through first. He was almost inside when he felt the prick of a knife blade as it pushed through the flesh of his back. Napoleon was on Gervaise in an instant, forcing her drop the knife as she was withdrawing it from Illya's body. She whimpered at the failure, the wound was superficial at best, and as Napoleon held her it was the hated Russian who pushed the prongs on his ring into her arm and watched as she faded into a blackened void.

"Where on earth did she come from?" Illya was bleeding but the wound was only superficial. Napoleon gave him his handkerchief to help staunch the diminishing flow.

"I don't know but, at this moment, she's not our problem. Do you know where the plans are?" Napoleon kept an eye on Gervaise in spite of what he said. Let THRUSH have her, they deserved each other.

Illya was already at work on the safe located behind a large painting of a nest full of birds. Everything THRUSH did seemed to have a reference to who they were. It took only a few minutes to get into the safe and retrieve the documents. Illya reached farther into the opening and pulled out something they hadn't counted on.

"What is it?" Napoleon squinted and then smiled for the first time that night.

"It seems our friends have a new prototype already, something we need to liberate." The smile was feral beneath sparkling blue eyes.

Napoleon looked around the room, down at Gervaise and again at his partner. Always a body, even if it was a blood thirsty woman just taking a very long nap.

"Do you have another way out of her, because I don't think the front door is a good exit." Illya stuffed the bloodied handkerchief into his pocket. It wouldn't do to leave something like that. He opened the door again and looked down the hallway.

"Follow me. There is a door out onto the terrace, but I don't imagine we have much time."

Already there was a commotion going on, probably the discovery of that THRUSH guard Illya had knocked out. The agents ran this time, towards a glint of light that indicated glass. It was the French doors that opened onto a terrace from which they could get a running start into the trees beyond. Napoleon had a communicator, so help was at least within earshot of their location.

As they sprinted across the lawn there was shouting and then a series of screams. It all faded from their hearing as Illya and Napoleon darted in and out of the trees and bushes at the edge of the property. Calling in wasn't the priority right now, getting out of range of a gunshot was. When at last they came to a stop, the house was well out of sight. If anyone tried to follow them it would be a frustrating effort, the terrain would make it difficult.

Illya squatted down at the base of a tree, his breathing was ragged and it hurt where Gervaise had tried to bury that knife in his back.

"You okay? I thought the wound was superficial." Napoleon wondered if his partner was being brave… again.

"Does not keep it from hurting. Plus they gave us something, not sure what it was, but I suspect it was to keep us pliable and obedient. I managed to spit most of it out, but…" He felt funny, lightheaded. Whatever it was in his system, the activity as accelerated its effect in spite of the small dose.

Napoleon took out his communicator and called in, setting the homing signal so their team could locate them. Illya was slumped against the tree now, fighting for consciousness.

"We're almost home tovarisch, the mission is safe. Well, I'm pretty sure it's safe." He winked at his own words, pretty sure he was right.

When the dust had settled and bandages put in place, Solo and Kuryakin checked in with Alexander Waverly for the debriefing session that necessarily followed a mission.

Illya was still a little groggy, angry at himself for not being able to completely ignore the small dose of drugs he had received. Napoleon was just glad they were back safe and relatively sound. There was still the issue of Gervaise Ravel, however.

"Yes, um… I see here in your report gentlemen that this, ah… Revel woman nearly did you in. Mr. Kuryakin?" Illya was a little sleepy, but he needed to give an account to his superior.

"Well, you see sir…" The deep set lids closed over his eyes as he considered what to say. Nothing came forth.

"Mr. Kuryakin? What the devil…?'' Napoleon smiled at the consternation in his boss' voice and expression.

"Sir, I believe Mr. Kuryakin is still suffering from the after effects of whatever it was THRUSH gave him. Amazingly he was able to perform perfectly in retrieving the prototype and program documents. I think the effects are simply delayed, for some reason."

A call came from the lab to Waverly's phone.

"Oh, I see. Yes, by all means bring it up." Napoleon cocked his head to one side, hoping to somehow gain understanding of what had been said.

"Sir?"

"Oh, well… It seems that Gervaise Ravel's knife must have had something on it, and that is what Mr. Kuryakin is reacting to. An antidote is being brought up now."

"Antidote? As in…"

"Precisely Mr. Solo. Mr. Kuryakin was poisoned; not enough of the serum entered his bloodstream to do any real harm, however the lab has come up with an antidote to insure against any long term symptoms."

"Oh." Napoleon was shocked. Here he had thought they were in the clear when it was Gervaise who had posed the greater threat.

"She wants him dead, sir. What will be done with her?" Now it was concern in Napoleon's voice. Why hadn't he brought her with them?

"The house was raided by Interpol and the FBI. Gervaise Ravel was not among those found there, so we must assume that either she fled alone, or is somehow in business with THRUSH."

Napoleon looked over at his friend, heard the pneumatic doors open as medics came into the room and began thrusting needles into Illya's arm. He would be fine, but what about the next time they encountered Gervaise?

Life had its uncertainties, but apparently Gervaise Ravel wasn't one of them. Not anymore.


End file.
